


Steady On

by twentytwentytwo



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse Mentioned, Pining, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, Some Fluff, angsty Monty vibes, delirious Monty, sick, sick Monty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentytwentytwo/pseuds/twentytwentytwo
Summary: Monty and Percy's plans to go to the opera are cancelled when Monty becomes sick. With Monty's family away, Percy takes care of him. Percy has to handle a delirious Monty while also walking the fine line between friendship and something more. But with their close proximity forcing him to confront his feelings, does he even want to?





	1. The Goddamn Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Monty wants to drag Percy to the opera despite his oncoming illness. When it comes time to leave for the show, Percy finds Monty in a state to behold.

Monty:

          “The opera?” Percy asks. He flicks my head when I don’t answer right away.

           “The opera indeed,” I respond. Percy raises an eyebrow.

          “You’re asking me to the _opera_?” Percy asks slowly. We’re lying on my bed in the late afternoon, both a little tipsy from the whiskey I stole from the kitchen.

          “Yes, Percy. The _opera_ ,” I say, imitating him. I reach over and push Percy’s hair aside as if to feel his forehead for a fever. “Didn’t you hear me-“ Percy grabs my hand and begins playing with my fingers “-the first time?” I finish with some difficulty, distracted by how close we are to holding hands.

          “Of course, I heard you, I’m just having trouble processing that it’s you who’s suggesting we go,” Percy says. “The last time I asked you to come said you’d rather stay home and read one of Felicity’s romances,” Percy adds, laughing.

          I wave my free hand dismissively. “No need to get into the particulars. Aren’t you happy I’m showing an interest in the arts?” I say, pressing my free hand to my chest like I’m wounded.

          “Sure,” Percy says, now pressing him palm to mine. His fingers are longer than mine; it seems he couldn’t just be satisfied with being taller than me.

          “Well, you’re _certainly_ interested in the arts,” I say, thinking of those long fingers effortlessly gliding across his violin.

          Percy doesn’t respond. He closes my hand into a fist and grips it tightly. He makes a face then presses his hand to my forehead, though unlike me from the moment before, he seems serious.

          “God, Monty, you’re pretty hot,” he says, then blushes when I give him a look. “I mean- meant- I-” he stutters.

          I cut him off. “It’s probably just from the whiskey,” I assure him. “But I know I’m looking particularly dashing today, darling,” I say, winking.

          Percy rolls his eyes at me, still blushing a bit. I smirk, pleased that I can make him react this way. “If you’re sure it’s just the whiskey,” he says, sounding unconvinced. His eyebrows knit together and I reach over and smooth the crease that forms with my thumb.

          “Come on, Perce,” I say. I wave the near- empty whiskey bottle between us. “It’ll be a different kind of night,” I say. Percy still seems on the fence, fiddling with his shirt collar. “Unless of course you’d like to frequent the fine brothels of our fair town?” I ask.

          “Fine. We shall go to the opera,” Percy concedes. “But I don’t want to hear any complaining,” he warns.

          “No promises,” I say. Percy shakes his head, smiling. I grin back at him, dimples and all. I truly don’t give a flying fuck about the opera but I know it makes Percy happy. I’d gladly listen to him prattle on about the artistry and layers of some show if it means he’ll smile at me as brightly as he is now.

          Percy leaves a few moments after our conversation to become presentable for the ever-prestigious opera. I finally rise to do the same but only after I’ve made sure to commit the feeling of Percy’s hands on mine to memory.

____________________________

It’s only been a couple of hours since Percy left, but I’m feeling abso-bloody-lutely awful.

          My head is pounding as though it was trampled over by several horses. I can feel my evening wear sticking to my clammy skin, my hair to my forehead.

          My gaze drifts over to my bed. I lie down, muscles feeling weak. I paw at the first few buttons of my shirt until they come undone so I can breathe easier. _Is my room always so hot?_ I wonder. My drowsy thoughts convince me that I’ll wake up before it’s time to leave for the show.

____________________________

_Percy looks especially stunning in his deep green coat. We’re lazily strolling through the streets, looking for our next bar to stop in. The moonlight catches on Percy’s unruly hair and I smile softly, thanking the Lord Percy doesn’t wear those dastardly wigs the rest of society is so fond of._

_The scenery shifts, and Percy and I are embracing in a dark alley way. Our faces are so close that I could count his freckles. So close that I could kiss him. I begin to lean in, but right before our lips touch I’m thrown backward by some invisible force._

_I’m in my father’s office, lying on the hard ground. Every part of me aches, and my father is gearing up to hit me. And he does. Again. And again. And again._

_“Put your hands down, Henry,” he growls. I’m frozen where I am and I flinch as his hand comes down to strike my face again-_

____________________________

Percy:

          “Monty?” I call, making my way to his room. The Montague house is so large that my voice echoes. Normally, there’s quite a bit of noise, but Monty is home alone for a fortnight. His father is away on business and I’m glad for that small mercy; I can’t stand how Monty’s shoulders slump and gaze drops when his father is in the room.

          Felicity, Monty’s mother, and baby brother who Monty so affectionately calls the Goblin are visiting family. The servants are away as well; I suspect Monty’s father dismissed them just so Monty would have to struggle through using the kitchen on his own.  

          Monty is ordinarily itching to go out and meets me at the door, so I’m surprised that I have to go hunt him down. Perhaps the idea of the opera has dimmed his usual excitement.

          I reach his room and open the door and what awaits me is a sight to behold. Monty is sprawled on top of his bed sheets, asleep. His shirt is open at the top and scrunched up at the bottom, displaying a fair amount of his golden skin. Monty’s evening wear and hair is a mess yet he still manages to look bloody gorgeous.

          I walk further into the room and Monty’s skin looks flushed. He must be sick, just as I’d suspected earlier. The sweat on his skin makes his clothes stick to him in a way that makes me feel things that I need to shove deep down and never take out to inspect. I force myself to look away. Monty had only become more handsome as we’d grown up and damn him if he didn’t know it. It had to be some sick trick of fate for him to have a face like an angel _and_ dimples.

          I sit down on his bed and Monty doesn’t stir. I can see his eyes moving beneath his eyelids and I watch, amused, thinking he must be dreaming. Suddenly, Monty’s breath hitches.

          “No, please,” he mutters. I freeze. “Father, please,” Monty begs.

          I was there the day Monty’s father nearly beat him to death. I’d been there for Monty, trying to make him laugh, to convince him his life was worth living. I unclench my fists and realize my hands are shaking with rage. Not only does Monty have to live with the memory of what his father did, but he can’t even escape it when he rests. I wish, not for the first time, that I could punch Monty’s father as hard as I punched Richard fucking Peele.

          I gently shake Monty’s arm, unwilling to let him finish reliving that day. Monty flinches away from my touch, his eyes flying open, darting around the room wildly. He's breathing rapidly, chest heaving.

          His eyes are glassy and filled with fear. When they finally land on me, the fear behind them dissipates but that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t clenching at seeing it there in the first place. Monty deserves so much more than his scumbag of a father.

          “Hey,” I say. “It’s just me.”

“Percy,” he croaks out, sounding relieved.

“It was only a dream,” I say soothingly.

          Monty closes his eyes taking deep breaths. I put my hand on his forehead, pushing his soft hair out of the way.

          “Jesus, Monty, you’re really burning up,” I say. I know Monty must be truly sick when he doesn’t even crack a joke about his own hotness. I begin to take my hand away, but before I can completely pull back Monty grabs my wrist.

          “The opera,” Monty says. “Help me up,” he demands. He drags himself up using my hand before I can protest.

          “Monty, no,” I say, quickly standing up. Monty swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands, swaying, before collapsing forward onto me.

          “Steady on, darling,” I say, and it's a miracle my voice doesn't waver because _fuck_ , I can feel him shaking with the effort of holding onto me. I help him lie back on his bed and pull his bed sheets over him. Then, I stoke the fire and close the window before the cool night air can worsen Monty’s condition.  

“Sorry,” Monty says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I say firmly.

          His eyes begin drifting shut and he think he’s going to fall asleep but then he mumbles “We _have_ to go the opera.” He opens his eyes and looks at me pointedly “You’ll bloody adore it I know you will.”

          “We’ll go another night,” I insist. Monty pouts and I hold in a laugh. With the covers pulled up to his chin he looks so young.

          “We said we would, though,” he says stubbornly. He pushes his covers off of him and begins struggling to sit up.

          “I don’t want to tonight, let’s just stay in,” I plead and Monty pauses. His determined expression softens a bit.

          “Okay,” he says softly. I gently push him back onto his bed, relieved.

          I’ve seen Monty when he was piss drunk, but delirious Monty is on a completely different level. At least delirious Monty won’t be belligerently climbing on tables with very few articles of clothing. Hopefully.

          “Won’t you recite a sick lad a poem, then?” Monty asks. I laugh. “Since we’re missing the opera I feel cheated out of entertainment,” he says, yawning.

“I suppose I will,” I say, thinking.

          “There once was a bloke named Monty/

          His gait was ordinarily jaunty/

          But he caught a bug/

          Or slipped on a rug/

          Yet, he’s still the one that I-“

          I pause. Monty appears to have fallen asleep to my voice, since I stopped so long in between each line to think of a decent rhyme. I take a shaky breath. “Yet, he’s still the one that I love,” I finish quietly.

          I climb into Monty’s bed, resigned to my fate of taking care of him. Not that I mind; any time spent with Monty is worth it, even when he’s helplessly ill.

          As I settle under the covers, I can feel Monty shivering. I scan the room for more blankets and find none. I slip out of my jacket and lay it over Monty. After a good chunk of time, he’s still shivering. I take a deep breath and move closer to him, tangling our limbs together so he can soak up my body heat.

          I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m doing this out of necessity when Monty leans into my touch. He lays his head on my chest and grabs my hand with a surprisingly firm grip. The heat radiating off of Monty is concerning. Leave it to his dramatic ass to run a fever like a star burning out.

          “Please don’t leave,” he murmurs.

          “I wouldn’t dare, darling” I respond quietly. I stroke his hair, hoping to comfort him. I’m worried he heard the last line of my poem, but hopefully he’s too out of it to remember much. I figure if he asks about it I can just turn it into a joke, like we always do when something questionable lands in that gray area between friendship and romance.

          His breathing eventually evens out and he’s gone once more, a sleeping beauty to the world. I eventually fall asleep to the heat of Monty’s skin and the steady beat of his heart, wishing we could be this close all the time. 

 

 

 


	2. Soup?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after a night full of illness and secret confessions. Will Monty and Percy admit how they feel about one another? Will surprisingly delicious soup be consumed? There's only one way to find out...

Monty:

When I open my eyes, all I can see is Percy.

     We’re lying so close that I can see every freckle on his skin, every perfect curl on his head. He looks peaceful, eyes closed, breathing slow and even, lips just slightly parted. I have to force myself to look away.

     After dealing with the visual assault that is Percy’s beauty, I become painfully aware of our predicament. Nearly every part of our body that could be touching, is. It feels far too intimate for just friends despite the barrier our stuffy opera attire provides. _Did we even_ go _to the opera?_ I wonder, unable to recall.

     It’s a strain to remember _anything_ at all about last night. Percy and I either got ridiculously wasted or I was far more out of it than I thought. Through my better, but still pulsing, headache I force myself to think. A few fragments float back to me. Falling asleep in my opera attire. My nightmare about my father. Percy saying he- he loves me?

     “ _What?_ ” I mutter. I screw my eyes shut. There’s no way. It must’ve been a hopeless, illness-induced hallucination.

     I open my eyes to find Percy awake. Wordlessly, he untangles one of his arms from the puddle of limbs and blankets we’ve created and feels my forehead. “Your fever’s gone down, that’s good,” he says. His voice is slightly husky this early in the morning and I resist the urge to swoon. He scans my face, then reaches out and smooths the wrinkles from my furrowed brows. He clears his throat. “Are you feeling better?” he asks.

     “Loads,” I manage. Percy nods.

     “Good,” he says. I smile tightly at him. I feel stiff and awkward in a way I never do around Percy. “Just uh- tired,” I add, though I’m anything but. Every nerve in my body feels electric with Percy paying such close attention to me. I close my eyes anyways and eventually start to doze off. After a few minutes I’m half-asleep and I feel Percy start to get out of bed.

“Are you leaving?” I mumble, too tired to open my eyes.

     “Shh, go back to sleep,” Percy whispers. “I’ll be right back, don’t worry,” he says. I feel more than see him pull the covers over my shoulders before quietly slipping out of the room.

Percy:

     Once out of Monty’s bedroom, I lean against the wall, breathing hard. It’s hard not to laugh at my pathetic self. Lately, I can hardly stand to spend time with Monty doing ordinary things, let alone all-night cuddle sessions. I shake my head. I need to whip up some soup for Monty and some sense for myself. Though Monty was acting slightly strange this morning, I’m sure it’s just some lingering delirium from his fever, not an indication that he heard what I said last night.

     I occupy my whirling thoughts with making soup for Monty. I bring the soup back to his room and find him still asleep. I set it on his bedside table and climb back into bed. His room is so quiet except for the sound of his soft, steady breathing.

     He is so beautiful, it’s almost ridiculous. I want to run my fingers through his dark lashes and kiss every inch of his face. I press my hands to my eyes.  I don’t know how I can stand it anymore. I love him so much I fear he can see it in my eyes when I look at him.

     I can’t go on how I’ve been. I have to tell him. Even if it means losing his friendship. At least, he’ll know the truth. Before I can back out, I gently shake Monty awake.

Monty:

“Perce?” I say.

     “I’m here,” he says gently. He nods towards my side table where a steaming bowl of soup sits. “You should eat something,” he says.

     “You- made me soup,” I say. I look at Percy, bewildered. I grab the bowl and take a sip. “And it’s good!” I exclaim. Percy laughs.

“Don’t sound so surprised!” he says.

     “I’m not! I’m not. Just…” I trail off. “Thank you. Not just for the soup. For being there for me last night. I dunno what I would’ve done if I was alone,” I say, avoiding his eyes. Me and sincere are a match not often found. I sneak a look at Percy and he has a strange look on his face.

“Monty,” he says, “do you remember anything about last night?”

     “Er- bits and pieces,” I say, blushing. “I hope I wasn’t too much of a burden,” I say.

      “Monty, no. Don’t ever think that,” Percy says, taking my hand. I look up at him, eyes wide. “I wasn’t asking because of something you did it was actually-“ Percy looks up at me- “something _I_ said.”

“Something you said?” I repeat.

     “You asked me to make up a poem for you and I…I have to tell you something,” Percy says. He takes a deep breath. “Monty, I’m in love with you.”

     “You’re…” I trail off, in shock. Maybe I really am having hallucinations.

     “In love with you, yeah,” Percy says, flushing. “And I don’t expect you to say anything or even talk to me ever again if you don’t want to. I just needed you to know,” he says.

“Percy I-“

“It’s okay, Monty, I know this is completely out of the blue and-“

     I cut him off by grabbing his face and kissing him. It’s even better than all the times I imagined it. His lips are soft and he melts into me, hands running over my shoulders, my neck, making me shiver. We pull away, foreheads touching, breathing hard. “I love you too, Percy, in case that wasn’t apparent from that kiss,” I say. Percy laughs.

     “You’re such a-“ I pull him in for another kiss and I feel him smiling against my mouth. I never want to stop kissing him. I know I’ll never stop loving him.

~~~~~~~

     We cuddle and kiss in bed until night falls once more. Percy’s tracing patterns on my hands when he suddenly stops.

“Monty, I love you, but you better have not gotten me sick,” he whispers.

     “Well, darling, at this point, it’s a bit too late to prevent that,” I say, pulling him in for another kiss. I feel as though the world has turned completely around. I love Percy and he loves me. I fall asleep in his arms and I am so, so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN/Hey guys sorry for the 8(?) month wait. I honestly had given up on finishing this but I was inspired and once I started writing these characters I didn't want to stop. Ugh I love them together so much.This is not the most polished thing I've ever written but I hope you enjoy this short and sweet conclusion anyhow. I can't wait for these books to blow up so we can have more content in this fandom! As always, please leave kudos/comments:)

**Author's Note:**

> AN/this is my first fic for aggtvav! I wish this fandom was bigger because I love these characters so much! I suppose I'll take it upon myself to create some more content for everyone to enjoy. Sorry the pov is kind of weird. I'm not used to writing in like first person present(?) lmao. I'm not sure how I feel abt this as a whole because I've only read the book once and I guess I don't know if I'm fully grasping what their characters are like but it was fun and I fucking love sickfics. Also three cheers for shitty poems laksdjfsljd. Hope you guys liked it! Be sure to comment and leave kudos if you did. I'll probz write one more chapter for this fic.


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